


The Forgotten Fittes

by sharknana29



Category: Lockwood & Co. - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: F/M, Pre-Canon, Spoilers, Technically a character death, Teen Pregnancy, be forewarned i guess???, bitchass marissa, but this character (sadly) has no presence in canon, develops entire character and background, i dont know what else to tell you, potentially abusive mother???, sees character mentioned a total of 2 times in canon, there are literally three actual characters in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:13:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21887239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharknana29/pseuds/sharknana29
Summary: A glimpse into the life of the only member of the Fittes family with nothing to hide.
Relationships: Margaret Fittes/OC
Comments: 7
Kudos: 11





	1. Pieces

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stormwalkers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormwalkers/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the reader views scenes from Margaret’s childhood

“Do you want to play tennis with me?”

“I’m busy, Margaret. Don’t you see I have work to do? Go play by yourself.” This woman, with all her sharp lines and words, throws me away with a flick of her wrist. I drag my feet the whole way out of her office, hoping I can guilt her into standing up and following me to the courts. When I reach the still-adjacent door, I look over my shoulders at her. Marissa Fittes. The shining beacon of light and hope for all of England. My mother. 

She shows no sign of rising or joining me, so I stalk off and slam the door behind me. I stand there for a moment, waiting. Getting control over my feelings. While I linger, I can hear a muffled conversation. _Of course I do_. She wants to talk to everyone but me. I leave, fuming.

For those of you that want to know, I end up playing table tennis on my own until dinner. 

* * *

I snatch the wrist of the zeek walking by. A coy smile flashes across my face and suddenly his lips are on mine and I’m pressed against a wall. A sigh slips from my open lips, his tongue brushing the back of my teeth. His name rings in my head. _Samuel, Samuel, Samuel_. The only boy, the only _person_ to give me more than a respectful nod or a not-so-sly comment in this damn place. _Is this what love feels like?_

Once we’re both wildly out of breath, we stop kissing. There’s a warm silence between us, one still charged with the energy from moments ago. He and I lean in, ready for more. But then, an idea blooms in my head. Changing course to his ear, I murmur into it. “The park across from the furnaces. An hour after curfew. Tonight.” 

He nods, and I notice a blush creep up his neck to his face. I’m sure I have a similar reaction. “See you later, Sam.” 

* * *

Leaving before Curfew seems like the best course of action. “I’m not feeling great, Mother. I think I’ll go to bed early tonight.” A simple precaution, since there is no chance she actually listens to what I say. One typical “I’m asleep” pillow stuffed under the covers and then I can practically skip out the door of the apartments. Once I’m loose in the rest of Fittes House, it’ll be harder to leave unnoticed, but if I carry a rapier and keep my head down, I’ll be able to walk out like any other agent. After that, a walk to the park and… _and then_. A smile creeps across my face.

I take a rapier from the Hall of the Fallen, and obviously, I feel terrible doing it, but there is no way my mother would let me have a sword of my own. There are several exits, and I take the one with the fewest people nearby. At this point, I might be able to get out of here without any problems. 

And that’s when I feel a hand on my shoulder. _Inhale, exhale_. _This is fine_.

I turn to face this person and am pleasantly surprised to find Samuel himself. “It’ll be hard to pass as an agent on your own, hon.” I melt into him and we walk off into the night. 

* * *

My mother’s assistant walks into my room, not bothering to knock. “Ms. Fittes wants to speak with you.” I fight the urge to roll my eyes. She never wants to talk to me, but now she’s sending her personal messenger after me? I’m positively _dying_ to converse with her. 

Walking into her office, what might be my office someday, has never been more nerve-wracking. If she wants to talk, I’ve either done something really good or really bad. 

“Why was there a _positive_ pregnancy test in my house?”

_Oh god. Oh god oh fuck oh-_

She slams her hand down onto the desk. “Answer me, Margaret!” 

I force myself to grin. “I’m… pregnant?”

She takes a deep breath. “Were you going to tell me, or was I just supposed to know my daughter was a whore?” Her words cut like razors, but I stand tall. 

“I will be in my room when you are ready to speak to me as if you would speak any other person under my circumstances.” I won’t crack where someone can see me. I turn, walk to my room, and close the door. Only then do I allow the tears to fall. 

* * *

My mother knocks on the door. “Come in,” I call.

“I’m proud of you. Keeping your head held high, even when your own mom throws slurs at you. I’m sorry I said those things.”

I blink. “We’re keeping the baby.”  
She recoils. “We?”

“You and I. This is my child but you will care for them as well. I told Samuel as soon as I found out and he hasn’t said a word to me since. I’ve heard that he quit.” The words come out harsh, biting. Mother isn’t the only one who has to contain her rage. “I’ve already booked an appointment with the doctor.” 

Marissa rises, clearly not here for an actual mother-daughter moment. The only thing she’s said was that it’s good I can hold tears in for two minutes. “Well, I have work to finish, but I’m glad you’re opening up to me.” My mother leaves, and I am left with only my thoughts and an embryo deep within me for company.

* * *

I hold my newborn daughter Penelope as my mother glances at the flavors displayed in the ice cream parlor. The boy who is currently scooping a massive amount of gelato into a tiny cup keeps looking between Mother and I, and then to Penelope. A wave of embarrassment rises up, and I can feel my cheeks go pink.

But then, Penelope lightly tugs on my hair and smiles up at me. The shame recedes and I take the gelato gracefully. I love Penelope more than anything in this world, and she is nothing to feel bad about. 

“May I speak with your supervisor?” A sharp voice cuts through the calm of the shop. My mother’s. _Oh, lord_. “There is _no_ reason for you to look at my daughter and granddaughter like that. Or at myself, if I’m being quite frank.” There’s a pause, and while I’m not facing her, I can imagine her stance. Shoulders pushed further back than necessary, stretching herself to be taller than normal, the picture of power and force. Her sickly sweet voice continues, “I could own you, buy this whole store if I wanted to. So give me one reason, _just one_ , why I shouldn’t do just that right now.”

The server pales. His eyes widen and he starts making incoherent excuses. My mother harrumphs and turns away from him. Even he, who has never met Marissa Fittes before, knows he has been dismissed.


	2. Burning Bridges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an argument occurs.

“Penelope, darling, can you go play in your room for a moment? Mommy and I have something to talk about.” Marissa’s voice shatters the peace of the office, which Penelope has taken to playing in. I had been reading a book in one of the chairs near the door, but now I am put on edge. Anything she wants to talk about without Penelope there to hear it is worrying, to say the least. 

Penny gets up, taking an armful of Barbies with her, and leaves the room. My mother strides over to the door. “Come, there’s something I need to show you.” She opens the massive doors to her office and walks to the silver elevator that even I have to have chaperones in. I hesitantly follow her in and see her hit a button for one of the floors I was never allowed on. There’s a short ride downward, and then we’re in the basements of Fittes House. 

I had expected some sort of archive, or perhaps the extra incinerators people were always gossiping about. What I was not prepared for was a stark white room with black chairs and tables scattered around it, a window on the wall opposite us looking down into another room with a similar color scheme. There are doors on the other sides of the room that lead on to who-knows-what. 

“Here’s the secret to our success, and to my immortality.” She laughs a little bit. “The only way to keep ghosts around is to make more.”

“I’m sorry, _what_?” Then, I realize, I have to tread carefully. My mother has just confessed to extending the Problem for her own personal gain. “I just- I don’t understand. How?”

“Oh, it’s simple, really. Go in to where they roam, stir things up, come back here and watch the profits roll in while I stay young.” _Go in to where they roam_ ? What in the _world_ is she talking about? 

She gestures toward the window. “Take a look for yourself.”

I hesitantly move forward, as if the glass will attack me before I reach it. Peering through, I see a large pit of iron filled with bones, jewelry, and other personal effects. _Sources_. There’s a metal bridge that crosses the pit, but halfway through, it’s lost in a bright milky light. If even I can see it, this must be an incredibly powerful collection of sources. 

“Know that I am showing you this because I am trusting you with my secret. If you tell anyone of this, you will lose everything. Your home, your inheritance, _your daughter_.”

I stay frozen, staring at the portal to the Other Side. Marissa turns her back on me and leaves, and it isn’t until I know she’s taken the elevator aboveground that I collapse due to the shock of what she’s just told me.

* * *

During the night of the worst outbreak in the existence of the Problem, the world I will one day rule is split in two. One half of that world is constantly active. The other remains in their homes, clutching spirit wards and praying that nothing in their house stirs. The worst of it, in Northampton, has been evacuated. Children file into this area like pieces on a conveyor belt. Many leave in the same fashion. Some don’t.

Marissa spends more time at a “pop-up storage facility” than anyone deems necessary, but no one protests or comments on this. She is, after all, the nation’s hero.

* * *

“I’m ho-ome!” Marissa trills. She drapes an emerald-green coat over her desk chair.

The way she seems so cheerful as I have had to attend the funerals of several dozens of children and supervisors finally breaks something in me.

“Are you quite happy with yourself?” I snap.

“Of course I am. I’m richer than the queen, darling, let me revel a bit.”

“How many have died, Mother? How many has your business plan killed?”

“Hmm? Are you asking after this week’s report, or since the beginning?” She laughs. 

I’m seething by now. “You laugh now, but what would you do if Penelope had been struck down in the same way these children are? Would you mourn, or would she just be another casualty in your endless battle against time?”

She stops to consider. _She stops to consider_. I leave before I can hear her response. Even if she would mourn, she wouldn’t deserve to.

* * *

The door to my room opens, and dim light filters in. A small figure crawls under the covers and cuddles up against me.

I stroke Penelope’s dark hair. “Did you have a nightmare, honey?”

“No,” her soft voice wavers. “You were- I heard you crying and yelling at Gramma earlier. I wanted to make you feel better.”

“Thanks, Penny.” I hope there’s a warmth to my voice, but more likely than not, I’ll just sound tired and frustrated.

“Are you mad at Gramma?”

I pause. “Yes, I think so. I doubt we’ll be spending much time with her anymore, okay honey?” 

“Oh. Okay.” She seems saddened by the news, which truly breaks my heart. But with what I know, is it even ethical to raise my daughter in the presence of a- a murderous psychopath?

No. It can’t be. And so I won’t.


	3. Just Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which persons of interest are lost.

A new apartment has been built for Penelope and myself in a nearby but completely separate part of Fittes House. There is no reason whatsoever for Marissa and us to meet. And yet, she continues to find ways to worm into our lives. Whether she's "stopping by" to borrow a toilet roll, or ask if anything addressed to her has been delivered t us, I firmely turn her away.

"Do you have any pain-killers? My back has been horrible lately."

Through gritted teeth, I respond. "Mum, you can't just walk over here to ask for an Advil. Aren't you, if memory recalls, ' _richer than the queen_?' Get your own medicine next time." Despite my complaints, I let her in and go to retrive some.

I can hear her talking to Penelope, probably some standard “look how much you’ve grown” grandmother speech, but it still encourages me to get the pain meds so I can get  _ her _ out. I search the bathroom’s medicine cabinet for anything that will satisfy my mother for now.

“Here. Take it.  _ Go _ .” 

She leaves with nothing more than a wink in Penny’s direction. My suspicions rise, but what could she have plotted with my daughter in the short period of time that I had been out of earshot?

* * *

I hear a door click shut somewhere in the apartment. Penelope must have gone to the bathroom. I think nothing of it.

* * *

Someone shakes me awake. Penelope stands over me, tears in her eyes. “Mo- Mom. Grandma- she’s dead.”

I snap up. Dead? “How?” I croak out. I can’t believe it. She can’t be dead, she had figured out the secret to everlasting life.  _ Hadn’t she _ ?

“We don’t know. Her doctor has disappeared too. Some people are saying he killed her. It could’ve been her degenerative disease, though.” That was what I had told her Marissa had. The reason she had aged so prematurely. Lying through my teeth to her, to the press, to everyone, was all I could do when people started asking questions.

“Who else knows?”

“I don’t know,” she says, but her tone has completely shifted. My arms, which had been reaching out to hold her close, snap back with a jolt. What had been tight and wobbly moments ago is now defensive and angry. I decide it’s best to let her mourn in peace, and walk oh so slowly into the kitchen to begin preparing myself for the long, miserable day ahead.

* * *

Someone tells me that my mother’s funeral is set for a few days after. Someone else notifies me of it’s status as a  _ very _ public affair with many workplaces giving their employees the day off, and that a mausoleum with a massive underground chamber is currently being built. A mix of regular police officers and DEPRAC agents are still going through her rooms, looking for anything that would make this death a mysterious occurrence. I made the announcement that she was gone yesterday, and already there are hundreds of baskets, letters, and other gifts being sent to Fittes House from the citizens of England. Politicians and reporters are wondering what this will mean for ghost hunting and removal services around the country, and higher-ups at Fittes are pestering me for promotions, raises, and other favors they swear my mother was about to grant them.  _ The vampires _ , I think. Leeching everything they can from me in this transition of power.

* * *

They paraded her body through London for all to see. Except, they didn’t. It was a closed casket procession.  _ Can’t have low quality lavender getting in there, can we _ ? Penelope and I stand above it all on the steps leading to Fittes House. There is a podium set out for a speech I wasn’t aware that I was supposed to give. Everyone, including the event planners, thought this was such an obvious detail that they wouldn’t have to mention it. While I watch her disappear around a corner, I have to come up with something to say to all of these people who have rallied together in memoriam of a monster.

* * *

When the people finally turn to me, Marissa lowered into the cavern below the mausoleum, I have something resembling a speech put together.

_ Inhale. Exhale. You can do this _ . 

“I wish to thank you all for your support in these difficult times. Your kind words, gifts, and donations are greatly appreciated by my family and all of us at Fittes. I will be taking over my mother’s company and following in her footsteps, fighting against this Problem that has plagued us for decades. I hope that I am able to succeed where my mother has not. I will rid this country of the Problem in my mother’s name!”

The crowd cheers, having heard what they want to hear. Fittes will still be run by her bloodline, we’re grateful for everything they’ve done for us, and I’m pledging to succeed where my mother hadn’t. Penelope stares off into the distance, looking in the general direction of her grandmother’s final resting place in the mausoleum. We turn and walk into Fittes House, much to everyone’s dismay. They had wanted more from us, from me. Some big gesture. A lengthy, inspiring speech; perhaps a walk down the same path my mother took mere minutes ago. Marissa had given a facade of herself to these people, and it was one of a hero meant to go down in history. They will not forget what she had shown them.

My heart was too heavy to spend any more time seeing these people haunted by my mother’s useless greed honoring her undeserving memory.


	4. Disguise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a change in power occurs.

The first thing I do as head honcho of Fittes is shut down the ghost portals. I attended one meeting with the Orpheus Society and will never again do so. Those geezers are insane, absolutely mental. Their funding has been cut severely, but they’re all from old money, so I expect things on their end will go on as usual.  _ Disgusting _ . 

The Problem has seemed to decrease exponentially since then, and things seem to have been getting better. Hell, I haven’t even heard of any new ghost lamps being installed since the one in that tiny town up north!

Regrettably, I’ve been seeing less and less of Penelope. Between her developing personality and my workload, we’re lucky to see each other at meals. 

What I have seen of her is a completely different person than the one I remember from before Marissa had died. She’s strong, yes, but also a heartless, lonely girl. It worries me to see her go through these changes.

7 years have passed since Marissa died.

* * *

I’m sick. How am I sick? I drink orange juice (no pulp) every morning, I exercise, I go to the doctors regularly. So how did I get sick? It must be food poisoning or something.

* * *

Well, I still feel like shit, but it’s been more than a week, so back to work it is.

* * *

The doctors say that they have no idea what to do about this sickness. It’s been almost a month, but no one other than Penelope and the doctors know. Work continues like normal.

Penelope is taking more interest in the company than I would have expected of a teenager. Well, I guess since she stopped talking to that nice blonde boy and the daughter of one of the research team heads, she’s been lonely.

* * *

It’s gotten worse, and sometimes I can’t get out of bed. The public is beginning to worry, but I haven’t been gone enough for them to really suspect anything.

* * *

It’s Penelope’s nineteenth birthday. Her party was huge, with TV reporters and everything. I spent half of it struggling to breathe. Afterwards, I coughed up blood.

* * *

I’ve been sick for a month and a half. The doctors are theorizing something about my respiratory system shutting down, but all I know is it’s a fucking nightmare to do anything but watch bad talk shows in bed. Despite this, I’m still working. I have a high fever most days. Penny’ll probably sentence me to stay in bed until this gets better.

* * *

She sentenced me to bed rest.

* * *

1 month and 3 weeks. That’s how long I’ve been sick, and I haven’t made any improvements health-wise. I now know what the word hegemony means though, so it can’t be all that bad.

Oh, who am I kidding, I’m probably going to go brain dead soon if this fever keeps up.

Penelope walks in. She stands next to my bed, …  _ glaring _ at me. Looking down at me.

“Oh, daughter, I really thought you would last longer as a CEO.” Penelope’s face flashes a wicked smile before going slack, and another face,  _ my mother’s face _ , peels itself from hers. “Just kidding." She gives a mirthless laugh. "I had always planned to kill you off as soon as Penny dear was ready.” I’m still trying to comprehend my dead mother’s face projecting out of my daughter’s, and so I don’t quite catch the “I’m here to kill you” part. This has to be a fever dream. It has to be. She’s been dead for 8 years. She can’t hurt us anymore.

And despite this solid logic, I keep thinking back to her statements on immortality. She just said she had achieved it. She never said it involved preservation of the body. My mother has been my daughter for 8 years. 

“Tsk, tsk. I always thought you’d have done more to help our legacy, but you do the opposite of that in the years you were in charge. It wasn’t even a decade, I mean,  _ really _ ? No one will remember you or your so-called ‘good deeds’. They will only honor  _ me _ .” She laughs. “I had given you everything you ever needed to live forever, and instead, here you are, about to die.”

“What. Have you done. To my daughter.” It’s a miracle I’m able to force those words through a jaw this clenched. 

“Would you believe me if I said I didn’t know?” She’s joking about my daughter’s life.

I lunge at her. I had hoped to harm her in some way, maybe claw her eyes out. Somewhere deep down inside me, I knew Penelope was gone. I knew I wouldn’t be hurting her.

She seeps quickly back into Penelope’s husk of a body, her face nudging itself up against Penny’s, to sidestep away from my body. I collapse on the floor at her feet.  _ Get up, get up _ .  _ Please, get up _ . My arms don’t seem to support my weight any more. I’m pretty sure I can’t move my legs. Breathing is almost impossible, oh dear. 

Penelope- no, Marissa Fittes- tilts my chin up to face her. She’s knelt down to look into my eyes. Probably a last glance at her daughter before she tosses me away to die. With the last of my remaining strength, I tell this despicable woman, this mockery of a human being, “I hope you rot in hell, bitch.” I then spit in her face. There’s blood mixed in with the spit, more than I had seen when coughing blood up last week. 

Her face contorts into the picture of rage. She slaps me away, disgusted.  _ Good _ . 

I’m starting to lose focus by the time she’s wiped the blood off and launched into some villain monologue. Not that I would pay attention anyways. Soon I can’t see her shell of a body at all. 

All I can see is Marissa’s cruel spirit, an acid green. 

The room has started to distort. The window is a bright white light now, one I walk, almost leap through. When was the last time I’ve had that much energy? When have I been so eager to go into the unknown before?  _ When have I felt such warmth _ ? 


End file.
